


Save Me From These Thoughts

by bothromeoandjuliet



Series: Spring Fling Jeronica Week [2]
Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alice likes wicker baskets, F/M, Hermione likes wine, Hirams back in jail, Jughead's got the hubba hubba's for Veronica, Veronica is done and, Veronica is smol and Jughead is tall, and she's got a thing about being told its not her fault, first time writing a kiss scene, he's got a thing about her being in his shirt, hoping that its not to cringy, mostly mutual comfort, nobody likes olives, now she's soaking wet too, slight angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: After a late night walk goes wrong, Veronica finds herself at Jughead's trailer, soaking wet and, (if she's being honest,) in need of a hug. Jughead is surprisingly okay with giving her a roof to hide under and a old, oversized t-shirt to wear while her clothes dry.





	Save Me From These Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot number two! Hope that you guys in the Jeronica community like it! The prompt is Rain Showers.

 

 

When Veronica was younger she had expected a lot of things. She had expected her father to be a good man; she had expected her mother to have a backbone when it came to the aforementioned father; and she had expected that once her father had gotten out of jail he wouldn’t be going back. But then she had gotten a few years older and realized that you couldn’t expect anything in life. Not anything good anyway.

“Mija! You get back here right now!”

Veronica ignores her, pulling the door closed behind her with a thud. It was one in the morning, her mother was three glasses into her second bottle of wine, and Veronica was going for a walk. Her mother didn’t want her to, but Veronica didn’t want to have to talk about her father either; and she’d been having to do that for the past half hour. Boohoo, the world sucked for everyone.

She knew why her mother was concerned of course, and she could understand. Riverdale was not particularly well known for its safety, even after her father had been put back behind bars. Serial killers and gangs, drugs and cults; just another Saturday night in Riverdale.

Passing cars honked, maybe at her and maybe not. Lights flickered on the motel sign wavering in-between No and Vacancy. Veronica walked further, out of town, passing the final bus stop, dirt covered and faded, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to just get on a bus headed anywhere and get the heck out of Riverdale.

Maybe she would go to New York, start a fashion empire and live in the lap of luxury for the rest of her days; waited on hand and foot by attractive male models, while sipping champagne by the side of a pool.

A fantastical daydream, one that Veronica had been indulging in more and more often lately. It never lasted for very long; always getting interrupted by real life, and apparently tonight wasn’t any different.

Because no sooner then Veronica had passed over the train tracks and out of reach of the houses where her friends from school lay in bed, some sleeping, some not, then it started to rain; heavily, with big, fat drops, condemning her to a soggy, almost tearful, state, and giving her a decision to make.

Because in front of her is Sunnyside Trailer Park. It looks unusually quiet, only one or two lights are shining out through the rain and as far as Veronica can tell Jughead’s trailer is completely dark. There’s a good chance that he’s either asleep or not even at home, but she can’t seem to face going back to the Pembrooke, not with her mother’s slurred words and the pearls that she hasn’t worn for weeks, glinting on the dressing table every time she’s trying to fall asleep. So Veronica takes her rapidly dampening courage; walks up to the door, and knocks.

Straining her ears she can just make out the sounds of movement inside and as the door handle starts to turn, Veronica jumps back, her left heel getting pinned in-between two of the deck planks. Her ankle twists uncomfortably and Veronica curses the shoes themselves and the lifestyle that had raised her to believe in wearing them almost exclusively. Wrenching herself free, Veronica has just enough time to meet Jughead's eyes as he opens the door, the embarrassed smile on her face rapidly transitioning to a stare of confusion at his first words.

“You aren’t pizza.”

* * *

 

The second that the last syllable passed his lips Jughead knew that he had screwed up. Because no matter who he was opening the door to, or how surprised he was to see them, comparing a human being to a greasy triangle of delicious flavor wasn’t really the best opener.

Fortunately Veronica didn’t seem to mind, just raises her eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘really?’

“You gonna let me in Jughead?”

“Oh yeah..sure.”

He stumbles back against the wall, pressing against it as Veronica walks past him. Her hair falls over her shoulders, dripping down her body and her black dress clings to her in a way that Jughead suspects it didn’t when she first put it on. Brown eyes flicker from the tv; where the movie he was watching sits paused; to him, and then back to the tv again. The silence is thundering, he can feel embarrassment rising up the back of his throat, and then she speaks.

“Can I stay?”

“What? I mean, yes.”

“I just need somewhere to hide out from the rain and…” she breaks off, understanding his words. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Contrary to popular belief and numerous rumors that I may or may not have circulated, I don’t actually hate you Veronica.”

Jughead walks into the kitchen, feeling her eyes on him still.

“Plus my dad ditched our movie night to do some “Alice” thing so I’ve got the trailer to myself for the night. Do you drink cola or are you into that citrus crap like my dad?”

“Cola. And you don’t have to worry about me staying the night, I’m only staring until-“

“The rain stops; yeah, you said. Listen,” pulling his head out of the fridge and looking up at her “why don’t you go to my room and find something dry to put on? Everything that isn’t in the laundry basket should be clean.”

“Somehow I didn’t take you and your dad for ‘laundry basket’ type people.” she laughs.

“We’re not. They’re wooden, wicker baskets, with ‘cleanliness is a virtue' carved into the handles. You figure it out.”

She snorts and the next time she speaks her voice is muffled by Jughead’s bedroom door.

“So is Citizen Kane a big favorite?”

“Well its not in the top five, but it is better then what you can find on tv.”

A knock on the door, a disgruntled teen in a red baseball cap, and one wrinkled five dollar bill later, and the pizza is finally in Jughead’s arms. It smells like bad life choices and grease, and Jughead suddenly wonders if Veronica even eats pizza. He’s never seen her; and somehow the idea of Veronica slamming down coke and pizza seems entirely to improbable and strange to actually happen.

“Well, that just smells deliciously unhealthy!”

Jughead turns, sees her, and promptly swallows his tongue. Because she’s standing there; Veronica Lodge is standing there; damp haired and barefoot; in his living room.

And she’s wearing his shirt.

Jughead likes to believe that he’s better then the average high-school male; more controlled, more intelligent. He doesn’t fall apart over a pretty girl; even when he had been dating Betty he had always kept his cool.

But then again, Betty had never worn his shirt. She had always said that she was too tall, that she felt exposed. But where Betty was tall Veronica was…not.

The white t-shirt came down to just above her knees, the collar dangerously close to the edge of her shoulder. Her hair kept dripping and…No, Jughead refused to go there; refused to even acknowledge that ‘there’ existed. So he swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat, and looked very steadily into her face.

“You hungry?”

His voice comes out undeniably pitchy, but Veronica doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does she nice enough to not say anything about it. So they both settle in, leaning against the couch, eyes on the remaining twenty minutes of Citizen Kane, (he offers to rewind it but Veronica’s already seen it a few times,) and Jughead definitely does not notice the t-shirt slide up Veronica’s thighs when she first sits down. Of course he doesn’t, that would be inappropriate.

There are slices of olives on the pizza and he grimaces at them. He hates olives, but his dad does too and Jughead is nothing if not petty. Besides, he can just pick them off and sprinkle them on the remaining pieces.

So with eyes steadfastly fixed on the glowing screen, Jughead stretches out his hand, full of olives and begins sprinkling. Then Veronica squeaks and Jughead realizes too late that he probably should have looked first.

“Jughead! What are you doing?”

“I’m…I’m putting extra olives on the leftover pieces because I don’t like them.”

She looks at him clearly baffled, rubbing bits of olive off her hand.

“Well why the heck did you order olives then?!”

“My dad hates olives too.”

Veronica stares at him like he’s got three heads for about a minute; Jughead almost has himself convinced that she’s about to get up and leave when the unthinkable happens. Veronica Lodge starts laughing.

“You ordered olives purely to get back at your dad for skipping out on you? I honestly don’t think that I’ve ever heard of such a passive aggressive tactic in my life. I’m in!”

Confused, Jughead watches Veronica’s hand drop down to her own plate and scoop up a pile of olives picked from her own piece of pizza, proceeding to follow Jughead’s lead.

“You don’t like olives either?”

“I tolerate them in public, or with a good martini, but I don’t really like them in general, no.”

“Does the rest of your family like them?”

He’s not really sure why he asked, probably it had something to do with the way that her eyes were sparkling and her laugh was ringing in his ears. A stupid reason maybe, but its the only one he has.

The silence is deafening and she’s looking away from him, staring down at her plate like she wants it to explode. The movie’s big reveal plays out in the background, as confusing as it always was; and food that Jughead’s just eaten turns to ash in his stomach.

“Jughead…I trust you. I trust you more then; probably anyone else in my life, except maybe my grandma. And because I trust you, instead of just leaving right now, I’m going to ask you if its okay if we just…don’t have to talk about my family tonight. At all.”

Brown eyes meet blue, looking unbearably vulnerable.

“Of course its okay, of course.”

Her face collapses into something resembling relief. Her plate clinks against his as she stands, her training at Pops to well drilled for her to leave dirty dishes on the floor.

The movies credits finish rolling, leaving a dark screen in their wake; Jughead’s gaze follows her, his mind enchanted.

She moves from the sink to the fridge, grabbing a drink for both Jughead and herself, not having to even ask if he needs one. Her face looks tired and Jughead is reminded of the pages document that is been buried somewhere on his laptop at that very moment.

_“Veronica Lodge; beautifully broken; everlasting sunshine. She’s been through hell and back, and did it with a smile. She’s all of those things, and at just seventeen. I wonder if maybe, underneath, she’s lonely, just like me.”_

Jughead accepts the can of coke wordlessly, unashamed of how his eyes travel up her legs before landing on her face. Because the clock reads two-thirty, and he’s tired; much to tired to play games or ignore the tears that seem to keep welling up in Veronica’s eyes.

So when she sits down next to him again, knee to knee, and whispers thanks faintly into the air, Jughead doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, tucking her under his chin.

“I’m so sorry 'Ronnie. You don’t deserve this.”

She releases a shuddering breath and wet tears land on Jughead’s forearm.

“Listen to me, Veronica, I’m serious. None of this is your fault, okay? You don’t deserve to pay for what your parents did.”

More tears fall; manicured fingers grab at Jughead’s shirt, pulling him close only to push him away. Its ugly and painful and the shaky breaths tear at his soul, but it is healing too, in a way. A few minutes pass, the tension flees from Veronica's shoulders and her breaths are even. Then suddenly Veronica speaks, her voice barely there.

“None of it is your fault either Jughead.”

She pulls away from him, not far enough for him to drop his arms but enough for him to be able to see her face. He drops them anyway and the glow from the tv is just bright enough for him to see Veronica’s face falter.

Jughead knows that there are many things he could say, he’s got at least seven different ideas in his head at that very moment. But it all seems far too deep, like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff, making the decision on whether or not he’s going to let himself fall.

“Lets get you to bed.”

He stands, offering her his hand but she hesitates and offers,

“I can take the couch. I don’t want to kick you out of your bed, and I was only going to stay until the rain stopped.”

Rain echos loudly against the metal roof at her statement and Jughead just sighs, pulling Veronica to her feet, muttering,

“Come on.”

Veronica follows him to his room silently, hovering in the doorway after he drops her hand so he can clean up the remnants of his English assignment.

“The sheets are clean, I just changed them this morning.”

“Jug…”

“Please don’t,” looking up into her face “please Veronica. I’m trying my best to be a good guy right now but if you don’t stop I just might do something that we both regret.”

Her eyes go wide and she steps further into the room; closer to him.

And Jughead’s trying, he really is, to ignore the way that her fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, or how her bottom lip is reddening from her teeth, or the way she’s looking at him with those brown eyes, with their too dark lashes that are tangled together in the corner, damp from tears.

“Jughead…”

Trying is for losers anyway.

Jughead crosses the room in two strides, his breath sounding heavy in his ears and then he’s touching her.

Fingers ghosting against her cheeks, up through her hair. Lips pressed into one another, all teeth and passion and hunger. Her hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. Skin burning against skin. She whimpers and he swallows it, or he whimpers and Veronica does. Jughead’s not certain whose who anymore if he’s being completely honest. Her tongue flicks the roof of his mouth and he nips at her bottom lip, blood rushing in his ears.

Chests heaving, they separate, eyes heavy with something neither can express. They both know that this can end in one of two ways, and the fun way won’t last.

“Goodnight Veronica.” a pause “Lock the door.”

She nods, eyes filled with understanding.

“I will. Goodnight Jughead.”

Veronica closes the door behind him and Jughead goes back to the living room and starts to write. He writes and he writes, and the hours tick by. Its four in the morning by the time he falls asleep and when his dad gets back in the morning he finds him sitting there on the couch, bolt upright, a now dead laptop open on his lap.

Later when Jughead goes into his room to get dressed he finds a sticky note on his pillow, covered in Veronica’s flowing handwriting.

_“Jughead, Thanks for the shelter. Meet me at Pops at five tonight so I can pay you back for the pizza. P.S. I’m keeping your shirt.”_


End file.
